


This Cold December Night

by kim47



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Friends to Lovers, M/M, New Year's Eve, Pining, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-07 20:25:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8815123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kim47/pseuds/kim47
Summary: Arthur gets the kiss of his life from a stranger in a mask at his company's New Year's Eve party. With Morgana's help, he's determined to find him again, especially if this guy can help him get over his inconvenient feelings for his best friend...





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GeekLover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeekLover/gifts).



> Happy holidays, GeekLover! I knew I had to write your first prompt the minute I saw it. I hope you enjoy this <3
> 
> Title from that goddamn Michael Buble song, which was on repeat in my head while I wrote this. Make sure Show Creator's Style is on if you want the emojis to be visible. Thanks so much to my beta for their speedy, excellent work!
> 
> ***
> 
> This has been translated into [Chinese](http://ciela1987.lofter.com/post/1dd2d331_df2a064) and there is artwork from LFB72 [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9473240)!

Arthur slouches against the wall, drink in hand, and lets his eyes trail around the room. He shifts to try and alleviate the discomfort of the heavy, ornate belt digging into his hip. He scowls at his drink.

“If I’d known you’d be this uselessly grumpy, I’d never have insisted you come,” says Morgana, appearing next to him. She steals his drink and takes a sip. Arthur transfers his scowl to her. 

“Yes, you did, and yes, you would,” he says. “You love seeing me suffer.” 

“True,” Morgana says. She fishes her phone out of some hidden pocket in her beautiful, intricate dress. She holds it up and snaps a picture of his face. “Oh, Merlin will love this.”

Arthur makes a half-hearted attempt to snatch the phone out of her hand, but she dances away from him, clearly in the process of sending the message. 

“Look,” she says, returning the phone to the depths of her dress. “I know you hate this kind of thing, but it’s important for you to show your face at things like this. It can only be good for company morale; it makes you part of the team. People like that.”

“So you’ve told me a thousand times,” Arthur says, draining his drink. “Father never came to this sort of thing.”

“And this company languished in insignificance for ten years,” Morgana retorts. “It’s time for new things—you’re the one who keeps saying that.”

Arthur sighs because she’s right, and he hates it when she’s right. 

“I just don’t see why Merlin didn’t have to come,” he complains instead, a last ditch effort at some sympathy. His tights really are very uncomfortable. “He’s as important to the company as I am.”

“You know he’s visiting his mum,” Morgana says, rolling his eyes. “You work him so hard he barely gets to see her, and it’s New Year’s Eve for god’s sake.” 

Arthur appreciates her not making any comment about why, exactly, he wants Merlin here, so he keeps his mouth shut and resumes watching the room. Everyone has put an impressive amount of effort into their costumes, and at least half of them are even still wearing the masks they’d been handed at the door. Arthur had almost had an aneurysm when Morgana had told him how much they’d cost, but she’d insisted the party was still under budget, and he has to admit, they look good. They’re beautiful craftsmanship; delicate, intricate things that cover half the face, no two of them alike. Arthur had worn his for about five minutes before it began to itch unbearably, and he had abandoned it at one of the dozens of high tables dotting the room.

Morgana, likewise, had removed hers, claiming that she didn’t want to deny anyone the pleasure of seeing her face. 

“Arthur!” An arm is slung around his shoulder, and he can smell that mixture of alcohol and cologne that tells him exactly who is accosting him.

“Hello, Gwaine,” he says, resisting the temptation to squirm out from under Gwaine’s arm. That kind of thing only encourages him.

“Cracking party, mate,” Gwaine says cheerily and hands him another drink. 

“It was all Morgana,” Arthur demurs. Gwaine raises his glass to her, and she nods back. 

“I try,” she says modestly. “And almost always succeed,” she adds, in truer Morgana fashion.

“I’ll drink to that,” Arthur says, raising his glass and clinking it against hers. 

“To success,” she says, meeting his eyes, and he knows she means more than this party. She means everything they’ve built together in the last two years.

“To success,” he agrees, and they drink.

*

By 11:30, Arthur is comfortably buzzed. He’s in his sweet spot; enough alcohol to feel loose and almost happy, but not so much that he knows he’s going to regret it tomorrow. The music is good, and he’s dancing with someone he recognises from the HR department but whose name escapes him for the moment, and he can almost forget that Merlin abandoned him at this party in favour of sitting at home with his mum. Almost.

“Alright, princess,” comes a voice to his right, and a hand snakes around his waist, spinning him around. He throws his hands up in time to stop his momentum from sending them crashing into the ground, and his hands come to rest on Gwaine’s chest. He squints up at Gwaine, and then frowns. He hates that Gwaine is taller than him. “It’s my turn to dance with Percy,” Gwaine says, letting go of Arthur and grinning at him. “You know I’ve been waiting all night.”

Arthur rolls his eyes and retreats, watching as Gwaine steps up to Percival, who looks torn between amused and appalled (as do most people when dealing with Gwaine), but Arthur notices the way his hands tighten on Gwaine’s waist, and the fact that he stands much closer to him than he had to Arthur. He feels a tiny twinge of jealousy, which he immediately hates himself for. Arthur sighs.

“No being maudlin on New Year’s Eve,” Morgana says, appearing at his elbow again with another drink. “You’re not going to ruin my party.” 

“New Year’s Eve is exactly the time to be maudlin,” Arthur argues, taking a sip of his new drink. “You know, reminiscing about the past, mulling over regrets, that kind of thing.”

Morgana rolls her eyes, but they’re soft when she looks at him.

“You have only yourself to blame for those regrets,” she says. “He’d be here if you asked him to be.”

“No, he wouldn’t,” Arthur replies. They’ve had this conversation a hundred times. “Besides, I would never ask him.” 

“Which is why the two of you are world class idiots.”

“Morgana—“

“I know, I know,” she says. “I’ve heard it all before. But if you’re thinking of making any New Year’s resolutions—start there.” 

Before Arthur can protest, can reiterate all the reasons Merlin can never ever know about all of Arthur’s horribly embarrassing feelings, Leon arrives, sliding his arm around Morgana’s waist. 

“Leon,” Arthur says with a nod. Leon smiles at him.

“Having a good time?” he asks innocently, as if he hadn’t been party to at least half of Arthur and Morgana’s arguments over Arthur’s attendance. 

“Better than I expected,” Arthur says begrudgingly, and Morgana smiles into her drink. Leon squeezes her waist and kisses her cheek. 

“Morgana does know how to throw them,” he agrees. He glances around them. “Where’s Gwaine? I wanted to ask him about next weekend, we’re supposed to be going to the footy.”

Arthur nods at the dance floor, where Gwaine and Percival are now kissing enthusiastically. Leon laughs. 

“Couldn’t wait till midnight, I see,” he says. He looks back at Arthur, eyes twinkling. “And who will you be kissing at midnight, Arthur?” 

Arthur shudders and sips at his drink. “It’s just me and this glass,” he says, aiming for light and missing by a considerable amount. Leon glances at Morgana. 

“You know,” he starts, and Arthur groans. 

“Christ, not you too. I’m enjoying this party less by the second.” 

Leon holds his hands up defensively. “Okay, okay, I won’t start. But you’re not kissing anyone at midnight purely because of your own stubbornness, is all I’m saying.”

“It’s not—” Arthur begins, but Leon claps him on the shoulder. 

“Honestly mate, we don’t have to talk about it.”

Leon draws Morgana onto the dance floor, and Arthur watches them start to sway. He’s envious of what they have, the easy camaraderie and romance that he misses. What he has with Merlin comes close to it, he thinks, but to put himself on the line like that, with Merlin, would be unbearable. 

Arthur drains his glass and puts it down on the nearest table. He spies Ella from Merlin’s team lingering slightly awkwardly next to the food table and makes his way over to her. 

“Care to dance?” he asks, hoping to communicate friendly light-heartedness and nothing else. Ella smiles at him and takes his hand, and he leads her onto the dance floor.

*

The band stops playing at five to midnight, and everyone gathers in front of the small stage. The screens are set up to show the fireworks, and there’s the usual buzz that happens a few minutes to midnight. Everyone is clustered, either in couples or groups of friends, chatting and laughing.

Morgana and Leon are on his left, their arms slung around each other, and god knows where Gwaine’s got to. Probably having it off with Percival in the cloakroom, if Arthur had to guess. Morgana links her arm through his and smiles at him.

“You did good this year, Arthur,” she says quietly. “I’m proud of you.”

Arthur, to his horror, feels a tightness in his chest and prickling at the corners of his eyes. 

“Thanks,” he says gruffly, looking down, but squeezing her hand. “You have too.”

The clock shows thirty seconds to midnight when Arthur suddenly feels someone jostling him on his right, as if they’ve stumbled into him in the crowd. He instinctively reaches out to steady them. 

“You alright?” he asks.

The person, a man, nods. His costume is all black with silver and purple stars on a ridiculous cloak that Arthur instantly wants to mock. He still has his mask on, and it’s one of the more complicated ones, slightly hooded over the eyes so Arthur can’t even really see them, and slanting down over almost half his cheeks. The man’s panting a little, like he’s been running or dancing particularly enthusiastically. Arthur doesn’t recognise him. 

Arthur opens his mouth to say something, although he’s not sure what, when the crowd starts counting down, and he looks up at the clock. 

“Ten, nine …”

The guy’s hand is still on Arthur’s arm, and when Arthur turns back to him, he seems to be staring at Arthur’s mouth. Arthur’s gaze naturally flicks to the man’s mouth, and he can’t help but notice that it is incredibly appealing.

“Six, five …” 

The guy steps closer, and all of a sudden Arthur’s heart is pounding, and he can’t look anywhere except this guy’s red, pretty lips and pale cheeks, half-framed by the black mask. 

“Two, one …” 

The room explodes into cheers but Arthur barely notices because this guy, this _total stranger_ is kissing him. His lips press against Arthur’s softly, almost hesitantly, and when Arthur doesn’t respond, with a little more force. His hand tightens on Arthur’s arm, and Arthur instinctively leans into it, kissing back without another thought. He slides his arm around the guy’s waist and opens his mouth, heedless of the crowd surrounding them.

It’s a great kiss.

All of the guy’s initial hesitation is gone, and he brings a gloved hand up to cup Arthur’s cheek, gentling tilting his head to the perfect angle. He slides his tongue softly against Arthur’s lips, dipping in between them slightly more with each pass, and Arthur would be embarrassed about the noise he just made, except there’s music and fireworks and he’s being kissed to within an inch of his life. He eagerly presses back and their tongues slide against each other, and Arthur is, to his vague and distant horror, starting to get turned on. The black metalwork of the guy’s mask is pressing into his cheek, the only discomfort marring the perfection of the kiss, and Arthur reaches his hand up to trace the outline of it, his only thought to tug it off, get it out of the way, so he can kiss this guy without anything in the way. 

Except the guy jerks away, panting even harder now, and although Arthur can’t see his face, he can feel the tension that’s suddenly in every line of his body. The mystery man’s mouth forms an almost perfect ‘O’, and he twitches his hand away from Arthur’s face and then turns and hurries away, pushing through the crowd with impressive speed.

Arthur stands, stunned, for about ten seconds, his hand coming up unconsciously to touch his mouth. The Morgana grabs his arm, and swings him around, and both she and Leon are staring at him with matching expressions of disbelief on their faces. 

“Arthur, who—”

It shakes him out of his trance and he takes off through the crowd, after the guy. He’s not sure what he’s going to say when he finds him—maybe he’ll politely ask for an explanation for why this guy gave him the best kiss of his life and then _ran away_ , or maybe he’ll just grab him and kiss him—but he knows he has to say something. 

The man has only a short head start on him, but Arthur can’t find him anywhere. He’s not in the hotel lobby, or the bathroom, or on the street outside. Arthur makes it halfway down the street before he comes to his senses and realises that it’s futile.

The entire encounter is starting to feel like a dream in the cold December air, except that his lips are tingling and he can still practically feel the man’s hand tight on his arm. 

When he makes it back to the hotel, Morgana is standing in the lobby. She rushes over to him when he walks in and grabs him by the arm.

“Arthur, what the _hell_?” she says, looking astonished. 

“Morgana,” he replies. “I have absolutely no bloody clue.”

*

“What kind of person kisses a stranger and then runs away?” Morgana muses. She’s sitting on the sofa in Arthur’s hotel suite, her legs curled up under her, leaning against Leon’s chest. Leon is fast asleep.

Arthur had gone back inside to the party, mingling and making small talk for another hour, as people slowly started to trickle out, either going home or on to the next party. Once only a few stragglers remained, Morgana had given him permission to leave, and he’d escaped upstairs to the hotel suite Morgana had had the foresight to book for him, knowing he wouldn’t feel like making the trek to his apartment after midnight. 

He’d only just swapped his ridiculous prince costume for sweatpants and a T-shirt and poured himself a drink when someone knocked on the door. For a wild moment he thought it was the man from the party, come to offer some kind of explanation, and then his rational self reasserted itself and decided it was probably Morgana come to pester him.

Arthur groans and buries his head in his pillow. The two drinks he’s had since he came upstairs had not cleared his mind at all. 

“I don’t know, but I hate him,” he says. “It was the best kiss I’ve ever had, and I’m never going to see him again.” 

Morgana shakes her head.

“He can’t be that hard to find. If he was in that room, he works for the company, or has friends who do. We can do some pretty basic elimination from the guest list, narrow it down…”  
Her eyes are beginning to gleam in a way that makes Arthur extremely uncomfortable. 

“But he ran away,” he objects. “If he wanted me to know who he was, he wouldn’t have done that.”

“He probably just panicked,” Morgana says dismissively. 

“But what if he works for me? I’m not going to hunt down an employee just because they kissed me, especially if they don’t want me to know who they are!” 

“Well, they should have thought of that before they kissed you. Besides, Arthur,” Morgana leans forward and places her hand on his. “You just said it was the best kiss of your life. How can you not want to know?”

And Arthur _does_. He’s desperate to know. He could almost convince himself that it’s just to assuage his curiosity, or the mystery of it would nag at him. But it really had been an incredible kiss. He wants more.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay.”

They’re quiet for a bit, the long day catching up with them. Eventually Morgana gets up, and prods Leon until he wakes up. She wishes Arthur goodnight and shuffles Leon out the door to their own suite next door. 

Arthur turns out all the lights and gets into bed, staring at the ceiling. He’s not sure how he feels, or how he should feel. He picks up his phone from beside his bed and scrolls through the notifications on his screen, neglected since well before midnight. One catches his eye, and his stomach flips.

 **Merlin (12:21)** Happy new year, Arthur! 

He stares at the message, annoyed that he can’t stop himself from smiling. Fucking Merlin. He unlocks his phone.

 **Arthur (03:17)** Happy new year! You missed quite a party… Love to Hunith!

He stares at the screen for a moment longer, then navigates back to his message threads, opens Morgana’s, and starts typing. 

**Arthur (03:19)** Please don’t tell Merlin

Arthur drops his phone facedown on the bedside table and gets into bed.

He falls asleep eventually.

*

“I have a plan,” Morgana announces, waltzing into his office on January third. She sits down on the sofa under the window and waves her tablet at him.

“Good morning, Morgana,” Arthur says.

“I have the attendance list from the party, and I’ve eliminated everyone I actually saw there and recognised. Also everyone who is too short or too female to be your mystery kisser. We’re going to find him in no time.”

“Shh,” Arthur hisses, getting up from his desk and going over to close is office door. “Do you mind not telling the whole office about it?” He sits next to her on the sofa and reaches for the tablet. Morgana hands it to him.

“There’s still sixty people on this list,” he says, scanning it. 

“That’s where you come in handy. I know you said you didn’t recognise him, but there’s gotta be people on here you know it definitely wasn’t. You saw his mouth, and you would know if he had stubble or not, that kind of thing.”

Arthur’s mind flashes back to that mouth; he’d only gotten a glimpse, but he remembered full, red lips, and a smooth jaw. 

“Okay,” he says, but hands the tablet back to her. “But I’m not doing this at work.”

“Arthur, there’s almost no one here, most of our clients are closed for the next week; what can you possibly have to do that’s so pressing?” 

“That’s not the point,” Arthur insists. “This is totally unprofessional and I don’t want to do this here.” 

Morgana opens her mouth to retort when a soft “um” causes both of them to jerk their heads up. Arthur’s heart thumps painfully at the sight of Merlin standing there, looking both confused and suspicious. 

“What are you two up to?” he asks, looking between them. 

“Nothing!” Arthur says quickly. He stands up and then, feeling like an idiot, goes back over to his desk. 

“We’ll continue this later, Arthur,” Morgana says, heading for the door. “Merlin,” she nods at him as she leaves, her inflexion giving nothing away.

“Well that wasn’t suspicious at all,” Merlin says, rolling his eyes. 

“Honestly, Merlin, I don’t know why you always assume the worst. We were just discussing some family matters,” Arthur clicks around on his screen without actually doing anything. 

“Of course you were,” Merlin says cheekily. He’s standing in front of Arthur’s desk now, his hands in his pockets. He’s just as stupidly attractive as ever, and Arthur can’t look at him. He isn’t sure what it is, whether he’s had That conversation once too many times with Morgana, or if it’s the shock of being kissed so wonderfully for the first time in...months, really, but Arthur is feeling unbearably raw. 

“Was there something you wanted?” he says, rather than the usual (subpar, Merlin would say) quip he would normally lob back at Merlin. 

Merlin frowns. 

“Coffee?” he says, looking at his watch. Arthur sighs. They get coffee every morning, exactly one hour after Arthur arrives at the office (7:55 am, on the dot, every day) from the cafe on the corner. The coffee is, in Arthur’s opinion, less than amazing, but Merlin insists they do the best chai lattes in all of London, and Arthur is, at heart, a sucker. He stands.

“Yes, alright,” he says, as if this is an indulgence rather than a routine. He grabs his coat from behind his desk and tosses Merlin his scarf. “Let’s go.”

*

“So how was the party?” Merlin asks as they’re waiting for their order. Arthur tenses, then forces himself to relax.

“Awful,” he says. “My costume was the most bloody uncomfortable thing I’ve ever had the misfortune to wear, and Gwaine cockblocked me.”

Merlin sputters. “He _what_?” 

“Well, not really,” he admits. “Percival’s perfectly nice but I’m not interested in him like that. But I could have been, and Gwaine completely undercut me,” Arthur complains, because he knows it will make Merlin laugh.

Merlin does laugh, but most of it is buried in Arthur’s scarf that Merlin still has wrapped around his neck. It’s a deep, rich red, and looks delightful against his pale skin and cold-flushed cheeks. Arthur looks away. 

“I think he’s still at Percival’s, actually” Merlin says. “He texted me a picture of Percival’s tastefully-sheet-covered arse and about a million lewd emojis yesterday.” 

Arthur wrinkles his nose. Gwaine is nothing if not thoroughly unsubtle.

“Anything else interesting happen?” Merlin asks casually, but he’s looking at Arthur rather intensely. Arthur would suspect Morgana had told him everything if he hadn’t sworn her to secrecy. He shrugs.

“Not much. The masks were amazing, the drinks were plentiful, and the music wasn’t terrible, I suppose. I’ve been to worse parties.” Arthur’s sure he sounds extremely faux-casual himself, but he feels prickly with embarrassment imagining Merlin at that party, watching him make out with the mystery man, and doesn’t know what else to say. 

“Oh, okay,” Merlin says, and looks away from Arthur. “I hoped you’d have fun, you don’t let loose enough.”

“I let loose,” Arthur argues automatically. He thinks about this statement. “Sometimes.”

Merlin snorts, but he’s still not looking at Arthur. 

“Merlin!” calls a voice from the counter, and Merlin steps up to collect their drinks. 

“Cheers, Pete,” he says to the barista with a wide smile, and the barista beams back at him, his own cheeks flushed. Merlin really is absurdly popular. 

Merlin returns to him and hands him his coffee, and they make their way out into the cold. 

“How was your New Year’s?” Arthur asks him. “How’s your mum?” 

“She’s great,” Merlin says. “She said to tell you thank you for the wine, how did you know it was her favourite, and that she thinks you’re lovely.” 

“Must’ve been sloshed on the wine,” Arthur says, but he knows he’s grinning. 

“Must have,” Merlin agrees, and Arthur jostles him. “Oi, hot liquids here!” Merlin protests. 

“But it really was great,” he continues a moment later. “I always feel guilty that I don’t get up to see her more often, and she says she understands, but…” He sighs and blows on his drink. “We drank wine and watched telly and she cross-examined me about my love life and it was just, well, normal.” 

“Sounds lovely,” Arthur says sincerely. 

“You’d have been bored out of your skull,” Merlin retorts. 

“I already was,” Arthur jokes, but Merlin doesn’t do more than shrug. 

“Anyway, I said I’d go up to see her weekend after next, so I might leave a bit early on Friday.”

Arthur stops and stares at him. 

“You can’t go that weekend!”

Merlin stares back. “Arthur, you do realise you’re not my boss on the weekends and I can do what I want right?” 

Arthur rolls his eyes and starts walking again. 

“That’s the weekend we’re supposed to be going away with Gwaine and Leon,” he huffs.

“Oh fuck,” Merlin says, “you’re right. I’ll have to…” His eyes glaze over like he’s trying to remember his calendar, but then he gives up and reaches into his pocket for his phone. Which he can’t operate with his gloves on. 

Arthur takes Merlin’s phone out of his hands and herds him back into their office building. 

“Just go up the weekend after,” he says, opening Merlin’s phone and navigating to his calendar. He hands the phone back to Merlin. For someone who’s an alleged genius with computers, Merlin is hopeless when it comes to cyber security. 

“Got that bloody tech conference that Saturday,” Merlin says. “Although I suppose I could send Mordred; there’s not going to be anything particularly groundbreaking happening at it.”

“Done,” Arthur says as they get into the elevator. He swipes his access card and pushes 46. “I’ll even tell him myself, so it looks like it’s an honour and a responsibility, not a last minute reshuffle.”

“My hero,” Merlin says, batting his eyelashes at Arthur. Normally Arthur would roll his eyes and say “damn right” but today, somehow, he can’t. The silence that falls isn’t quite awkward, but it’s a close relative. 

Arthur needs to get it together. Maybe if he can find the mystery man, if he can find someone else to distract him from what sometimes feels like an all-consuming desire for Merlin, things will be okay.

Maybe.

*

Morgana arrives at his apartment exactly twenty minutes after he does, with Leon and Gwaine in tow. Arthur would ordinarily object to this kind of invasion, but now he, if not welcomes, then politely invites it inside and offers it drinks.

“Beer,” says Gwaine.

“Wine,” says Morgana. 

“I’m just here as a spectator,” Leon says, holding up his hands. 

“I hear you have a secret admirer,” Gwaine teases, once everyone has their drinks. 

“I’m not sure I’d call it a secret,” Leon objects. “The guy planted one on Arthur fairly unambiguously, in front of a couple hundred people.” 

“Secret identity, though,” Gwaine says, waggling his eyebrows. Morgana rolls her eyes and produces her tablet. Arthur scrolls through the names on the list, crossing some off on the basis that he’s fairly sure they’re either seeing someone, straight, or too scared to walk up to him and kiss him. 

“They wouldn’t necessarily be single,” Morgana says. “Maybe that’s the reason for the secrecy and the running away.”

“If they’re not, then I don’t have any interest in finding out who they are,” Arthur says, a little too sharply. Morgana holds up her hands. 

“Okay, I was just making a point.” She looks at the list that Arthur handed back to her. “There’s still a good twenty five people on here, and I don’t know most of them,” she says. “They’re mostly friends and family of people at Camelot Solutions.”

“I could ask around,” Gwaine volunteers. “People think I’m a nosy bastard anyway. See if anyone’s friend or brother secretly macked on someone at the party?” 

Morgana nods. “Good,” she says. “That might work.”

Gwaine turns to Arthur, looking unusually thoughtful. 

“You sure you don’t remember anything about him?” he asks Arthur. “You didn’t get like...a feel for him or anything?” 

“He definitely got a feel,” Leon says under his breath.

“No…” Arthur says slowly. “It was only like thirty seconds. He was a bit taller than me, but I couldn’t properly see his eyes, and he was wearing all black. Gorgeous mouth,” he adds. That mouth had featured in a solid session with his hand last night.

“You mentioned that,” Morgana says drily. 

“Righto,” Gwaine says. “I’ll ask around about anyone’s friend or brother with a particularly nice mouth.” 

“You said he was wearing a cape, right?” Morgana asks. Arthur nods.

“Black with purple and silver stars,” he says. “He looked like a camp wizard.”

Leon snorts, but Morgana looks thoughtful. 

“I didn’t notice anyone wearing that earlier, and I’m certain I at least saw everyone at the party,” she says. “He must have arrived at 11 at the earliest.”

“Actually,” Arthur says slowly. “He seemed out of breath. Like he’d been running.” 

“Ooo,” says Gwaine. “Maybe he showed up just to kiss you, princess!” He leans over and plants one on Arthur’s cheek. 

“It’s possible,” Morgana says, as Arthur shoves at Gwaine’s face, who gets an arm around Arthur and attempts to wrestle him off the sofa. Gwaine’s bigger than him, but Arthur’s fitter, and he manages to get Gwaine twisted around and face down into the cushions. 

“You are both children,” Morgana says, but Arthur can hear the fondness in her voice. 

“Alright,” he says, letting go of Gwaine, who immediately starts fixing his hair. “Maybe this will work.”

“Of course it will,” says Morgana briskly. “I’ll have the photos from the photographer by the end of the week, and we can look through them and see if we can spot him. Until then, really try and see if you can remember anything else about him.”

As if Arthur hasn’t been racking his brain desperately for two days. 

“Yes, Morgana,” he says, rolling his eyes. She takes umbrage to that, and a whole new argument starts, and the topic of the mystery man slips away.

*

Three days later, Arthur has dropped all pretense, and Friday afternoon finds him scrolling through the official photos from the party at his desk, Morgana peering over his shoulder. There’s nearly 300 photos to look at, and 143 in, they’ve had no success.

“That’s a really nice one,” Morgana murmurs, and Arthur pauses. It’s just him and Morgana, and from the picture you’d never be able to tell that his costume was slowly suffocating him. Arthur makes a mental note to get a nice print of it and give it to her for her birthday. 

“Family stuff again?” Merlin’s voice comes from the door. Arthur resists the temptation to immediately close the window, which would look guilty as anything. 

“Just looking through the party photos,” he says casually. 

“They’re all photos of you, aren’t they, Prince Charming?” Merlin says. “It’s like Narcissus and the pool all over again.” Arthur huffs but doesn’t reply, and Merlin comes over to peer over Morgana’s shoulder, which means their little exercise will now have to wait. 

Merlin, of course, only lasts about thirty seconds before he announces he’s bored. 

“Order lunch or something,” Arthur says, and Merlin perks up. He grabs Arthur’s phone off the desk and starts fiddling. 

“You have your own perfectly functional phone, Merlin.”

“Yes, but lunch always tastes better when you pay for it.”

“I knew you only liked me for the free food.”

“I never pretended otherwise,” Merlin says cheerfully, taking Arthur’s phone over to the sofa. He makes himself comfortable on it and orders lunch. Arthur can’t see her face, but he knows Morgana is rolling her eyes. 

“Enjoy your lunch, boys,” she says, squeezing Arthur’s shoulder before she heads for the door. “I’ll be in my office doing real work.” 

“Like looking at party photos?” Merlin asks, grinning. 

“Like making sure we get what we paid for,” she retorts. “The money is my job, after all.” She looks back at Arthur. “See you tonight?” 

“Yeah,” he says, distracted by the fact that Merlin has now propped his sneakered feet up on the small glass coffee table. Merlin continues to play with his phone, and Arthur returns to looking at the photographs.

The food arrives just as he finishes; he’s had no luck, the guy hadn’t been in any of the photos, and Arthur had checked twice. He sighs and starts unpacking the food, dropping next to Merlin on the sofa. 

“Thai?” he says, wrinkling his nose. “Again?”

“Don’t knock tradition,” Merlin says. He digs enthusiastically into his food. They eat quietly for a while, savouring the warm flavours. 

“I’m glad you guys don’t fight anymore,” Merlin says, apropos of nothing, around a mouthful of noodles. 

“What?” he asks, perplexed. Merlin gestures at the door with his chin, and Arthur catches on.

“Oh,” he says. “Morgana? We definitely still fight.”

Merlin shakes his head, swallowing. 

“You bicker,” he corrects. “You nag each other. But you don’t fight anymore, not like you used to.” 

Arthur thinks about this. Merlin’s right, he supposes. He hasn’t thought about it much, but his and Morgana’s relationship has improved a lot in the last eighteen months. The realisation is bittersweet. 

“Yeah,” Arthur says after a moment. “You’re right. After Father died…” He shrugs. “I guess the stuff we fought about didn’t seem to matter anymore. He left Camelot to both of us, and we kind of just had to get on with business.” 

“I’m glad,” Merlin says again. “It makes you happier.”

It’s unexpectedly sweet, and Arthur’s heart beats a little faster.

“I know you normally hate this time of year,” Merlin continues, and Arthur sighs, but Merlin forges ahead. “But I just wanted to say, I think you’re doing better, and I’m glad, because you deserve to be happy.”

Merlin’s studiously looking at his noodles now, and the tips of his ears are a little pink. It strikes Arthur that they never really talk about what happened three years ago, when Gwen left him, saying she’d fallen in love with someone else, and Merlin was the one who had to pick up the pieces. They had been messy, messy pieces. 

“Thanks,” Arthur says awkwardly, unsure of what else to say. What he really wants is to touch Merlin’s face, to kiss him and be able to tell him that he barely thinks about Gwen any more when Merlin’s all he wants.

“I am doing better. I didn’t even think about her this year,” he adds, and it’s the truth. Between the stress of the party, and that kiss, he hadn’t spared a thought for that disastrous New Year’s Eve three years ago. 

“Good,” Merlin says decisively. “Good. Oh, I talked to Mordred,” he says, changing conversational direction fast enough to give Arthur whiplash. “He thinks he can get the new code going by the end of next week, so we should be able to move into beta testing in two weeks at the latest.” 

Arthur is glad to have the conversation move into safer territory and he jumps on it gratefully, quizzing Merlin about the updated timeline, and his brain shifts into work mode, an infinitely more comfortable place to be.

But the warmth in his chest lasts all afternoon.

*

Arthur has a very well-established Saturday morning routine. He sleeps in until 9 am, has half a croissant and an espresso for breakfast (Merlin calls it the breakfast of wankers), runs to the gym (which he hates), works out for an hour, returns home, and eats another croissant while he fucks around on the internet for at least an hour.

He’s halfway through a Buzzfeed quiz to determine which kind of pasta he is when a thought occurs to him. He grabs his phone and texts Morgana. 

**Arthur (10:47)** What was the instagram hashtag for the party?

Morgana calls him.

“Great idea!” she says. “I’m impressed. It was #camelotNYE2k17”

“I think if he’s not in any of those photos, we can assume he only turned up just before midnight,” Arthur says, helping himself to another pastry. “Not sure how that helps us though.”

“Narrowing the timeline can’t hurt,” Morgana says, and Arthur snorts. 

“You sound like a detective on one of those awful shows you love so much,” he tells her. She sniffs. 

“My taste in television is exceptional,” she says. “I’ll be over in five minutes. Wait for me before you look at the pictures.”

Morgana lives exactly one building over. When Merlin had suggested that maybe his and Morgana’s lives were a little too involved to be properly healthy, Arthur had shrugged. The Pendragons didn’t really do healthy family relationships, he’d said. Merlin had not disagreed.

Morgana shows up looking impeccable as always, and helps herself to a pastry before pouring herself some coffee.

“Let’s see it then,” she says.

There’s only about fifty photos in the tag, mostly badly lit selfies of his employees and their friends, some in front of the photobooth, some of the photobooth pictures themselves. Arthur thinks everyone looks like they’re having a great time, which pleases him. But his mystery man isn’t there, he’s sure of it. There’s plenty of ballgowns and princes and various pop culture characters, but no wizards. 

Arthur supposes there could be some pictures on locked accounts that he wouldn’t be able to see. He considers asking Merlin if there’s anyway he could hack them before realising that would involve explaining everything to Merlin, which is never going to happen. And it’s probably some kind of violation of his employees’ privacy. That too.

“No luck,” he admits eventually, after they’ve pored over every photo. “Did I just imagine him?”

“If I hadn’t seen him with my own two eyes, I’d probably be starting to think he was a drunken hallucination,” Morgana admits. 

“I wasn’t drunk.”

“I know.”

Arthur racks his brain, trying to think of another way to trace this guy. An idea occurs to him.

“You know,” he says slowly. “There’d be security footage of him entering the hotel. Before he put his mask on.”

Morgana looks thoughtful. “You’re right,” she says. “It won’t be easy to get ahold of, but I definitely know some people who could help.” She taps a nail against her phone, humming slightly. “There are people who owe me favours.”

She’s halfway through the phone call before Arthur actually thinks about what he’s doing and starts making frantic “end it” gestures at Morgana, who does. 

“Jesus Christ,” he says when she hangs up and gives him a weird look. “Morgana, I’m not going to have you calling in favours to get some security footage so I can find out who some mystery bloke is who kissed me, that’s completely mad!” 

Arthur feels a little hysterical.

“Have I totally lost touch with reality? Christ,” he says again, putting his face in his hands.

“Maybe you’re right,” Morgana admits.

“I don’t think I’m ever going to find him, and I should accept that, right? So it was a great kiss, big deal.” He shrugs. “Maybe it’s just as well.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Morgana takes a bite of her pastry and leaves a trail of crumbs on the kitchen counter. She sounds annoyed. 

“I don’t know… But maybe it’s better to have one perfect kiss, and you can keep that memory forever, than trying to make it into something it’s not,” he says. “Who knows what would happen if I ever found him? Odds are it doesn’t end in happily ever after. And if I’m just after a kiss, I can get that, well...” He waves his hand around vaguely. 

Morgana rolls her eyes. “So modest,” she says. “Also your logic is terrible. I admit the CCTV footage idea was a little much, but what you’re saying, that’s not a reason never to look for anything more. I know Gwen did a number on you, but—”

“Don’t, Morgana,” Arthur says, warningly. 

“I’m sorry, but it’s true. I get that she hurt you, and that you needed time to get over it, but that’s not a reason to never date anyone ever again.”

Arthur sighs and scrubs his hand over his face. So much for his relaxing Saturday morning. 

“That’s not what I’m saying,” he says. “I’m over what happened with her, really. I just don’t know if obsessing over this total stranger is what I should be doing. Why do you care so much, anyway?” he asks.

Morgana shrugs. 

“Despite what you think, I care about you,” she says. “I want you to be happy.”

“And you think this mystery guy is going to make me happy?”

“Fuck if I know,” she replies. “But anything is better than watching you pining after Merlin and never getting off your arse and doing something about it!”

Arthur blanches, and Morgana immediately softens. “Look, I’m sorry, I know you don’t want to talk about it. But it’s gonna keep eating away at you, and maybe some new guy can help you move on.”

Arthur can’t fault her for the logic because he’s had the same thoughts himself. 

“I know,” he says. “I get it. I know I’m pathetic.” 

“Fake humility doesn’t suit you, Arthur,” she says, patting him on the arm. “Don’t get me wrong, you are kind of pathetic about Merlin. But there’s still hope for you.” 

Arthur isn’t so sure.

*

The next week at work is a little busier; some of their clients are back at the office, and Arthur has meetings lined up to pitch to new clients almost every day. There’s not really much time for him to obsess about his mystery man, and with the party now more than a week ago, the urgency has started to fade.

On Tuesday, Gwaine texts him.

 **Gwaine (22:45)** Sorry about your mystery man! Couldn’t find out anything :( 

**Gwaine (22:46)** I’ll find you someone this weekend tho!! Boys weekendddddd 

On Thursday, Arthur starts to get the distinct feeling that Merlin is avoiding him. It’s nothing specific—they still get coffee in the morning, and talk about work, but Merlin seems a little withdrawn. He doesn’t make himself at home in Arthur’s office as much, doesn’t lie down on his sofa and kick ideas around with him.

Arthur misses it terribly. 

On Friday, Arthur grabs his bag from under his desk at exactly five pm and heads for the door, determined to get out of there before some sort of crisis that can’t be solved without him pops up. Merlin’s office isn’t really an office, just a sunny corner in the co-working space that takes up most of the floor, a little bit apart from the rest of the team. He’s hunched over his laptop, which Arthur doesn’t understand because Merlin has two large, perfectly functional screens set up at a much more comfortable height.

He drops his bag by Merlin’s feet and says, “Let’s go.” 

Merlin doesn’t even acknowledge him, just keeps typing furiously. 

“In five seconds I’m closing your laptop,” he warns. “Three, two—” Just before he can, Merlin jerks it slightly out of Arthur’s reach and keeps typing. 

“Just five minutes,” he says. “Then I’ll be ready. I promise, just five.” 

Arthur sighs, and goes in search of Gwaine, who will certainly be much easier to convince. He finds him at the coffee machine, chatting to one of the new hires—a kid who looks about fifteen to Arthur, but who Merlin had sworn was even smarter than him. 

“Ready to go?” he asks Gwaine, who salutes him and smiles at the new kid, offering her a hand.

“Sounds great, just shoot me an email and I’ll set it up,” he says to her and she nods, blushing a little. Arthur tries not to roll his eyes. 

“Have a good weekend, Freya,” he says to her, pleased that he’s remembered her name. 

“You too, Mr. Pendragon,” she says, although she’s still looking at Gwaine. “And you, Gwaine.”

Gwaine gives her a cheery wave as he moves to collect his own bag from under his desk, and they return to Merlin’s desk. Gwaine doesn’t even bother warning him, just snaps his laptop shut. 

“Oi! I could have been working on something important!” Merlin yelps, but he stands up when Gwaine manhandles him and only lets out a token protest when Arthur doesn’t let him add his laptop to the bag.

“No work this weekend,” Arthur says sternly, and Merlin sighs like Arthur is being completely unreasonable. 

They’re slow to navigate their way through the city, stopping to pick up Leon from his office, but once they’re free of it, they speed up, and Arthur feels better than he has in weeks. They do this every four months or so, pick a spot and get away for the weekend, just beer and fishing (if the weather’s good) or video games (if it’s not). Leon had picked the place this time, and when they roll up, two and a half hours later, Arthur can see why. It’s a beautiful area, green and lush, the air crisp and refreshing, and, after the franticness of London, perfect.

“Very romantic, mate,” Gwaine says, punching Leon in the arm. It is, kind of. The place they’re staying is essentially a cottage, with lights strewn around the trellis out the front. It’s the kind of place Arthur would bring someone for a romantic weekend away, and he can’t help glancing over at Merlin, who’s glued to his phone, fingers flying. 

“Are you working?” he asks suspiciously. 

“No,” Merlin replies without looking up, and Arthur doesn’t believe him. People like to call Arthur a workhorse, but he has nothing on Merlin. Most of the time, he’s the one convincing Merlin to take a break. 

“Wait till you see the hot tub,” Leon promises. “You’ll thank me then.”

They all pile out of the car, bags and all, and make their way inside. 

“Leon, did you bring my sister here for a romantic weekend getaway at some point?” Arthur asks suspiciously when they get inside. It’s simultaneously charming and modern; a big flatscreen TV in front room opposite to a cute fireplace. The kitchen is adorable.

“Maybe,” Leon says, grinning.

This becomes even more apparent when they troupe upstairs and inspect the sleeping arrangements. 

“You said there were four separate beds,” Gwaine says accusingly, staring at the king size in the master bedroom. 

“I did not,” Leon says. He returns to the room from dumping his bag on one of the doubles in the other bedroom. “You merely assumed.”

“Well I’m not sharing with princess over there,” Gwaine says. “Did that once at uni and never again. He sleeps like a man who’s never shared a bed in his life, no manners at all.”

“Well _I’m_ not sharing with you,” Merlin tells him. “You’re a stealth cuddler! You almost suffocated me that one time!”

Arthur isn’t sure he wants to know when or why Merlin was sharing a bed with Gwaine, but he’s distracted by the thought for just long enough for the arrangements to be settled and for him to be left standing in the master bedroom with Merlin, who looks at him and half-shrugs. 

“Guess it’s you and me then,” he says.

Arthur forces a laugh. “I guess so,” he agrees.

*

**Arthur (21:34)** Did you and your boyfriend plan this?

 **Morgana (21:38)** Plan what? Aren’t you on your ridiculous boys’ weekend?

 **Arthur (21:41)** Oh don’t give me that you know what I mean

 **Morgana (21:52)** Spoke to Leon and if you’re referring to the bed sharing situation I had NOTHING TO DO WITH THAT

 **Morgana (21:53)** Leon didn’t ~orchestrate~ it either for god’s sake it’s not a big deal

 **Morgana (21:53)** I know for a fact you’ve shared a bed with both Leon and Gwaine before so stop making this into something it’s not

 **Arthur (21:55)** Sharing a bed with Gwaine once when he was drunk isn’t the same as two nights in the same bed as Merlin

 **Morgana (21:58)**

**Morgana (21:58)** But seriously, it’s a huge bed, as long as you don’t make it weird, it won’t be weird

 **Morgana (21:59)** I know you’re in love with him but he’s still your friend

 **Morgana (21:59)** Don’t make it weird Arthur 

Arthur stares at his phone, at the words _you’re in love with him_. He’s never seen them written down before. 

“Arthur!” Merlin yells from outside. “You’re missing the hot tub, it’s bloody amazing!”

“Coming!” Arthur yells back. 

_You’re in love with him_.

Christ.

*

“So, Arthur, any progress with your mystery man?” Gwaine asks, draining his pint.

Arthur’s shaking his head frantically before the sentence is even out of Gwaine’s mouth but it’s too late. 

“What mystery man?” Merlin says sharply, looking between them. Arthur should probably be grateful it took this long for Merlin to find out.

“Uh, well,” Gwaine says, looking apologetically at Arthur. “Um…”

“Oh, go on,” Arthur says, giving it up as a lost cause. “I’m getting another round.” He can’t bear to sit and listen to Gwaine spilling to whole story to Merlin. 

The pub is loud and busy—Saturday night in full swing. It takes Arthur a good fifteen minutes to get their drinks, and by the time he returns to the table, Merlin isn’t there.

“Where’s—“ he starts, but Leon jerks his chin in the direction of the small dance floor, and there’s Merlin, dancing rather terribly with some guy in more plaid than Arthur thinks is tasteful on one human being.

“Did you tell him?” he asks, unable to look away. 

“Yes,” Gwaine says. “His eyebrows almost flew off his face and then he muttered something I didn’t hear and then went to dance. I think he’s pissed at you.”

Arthur sighs. 

“For not telling him?” he asks.

“Got it in one,” Gwaine says, and takes a long drink. “Why didn’t you, anyway?”

Arthur shrugs. He doesn’t particularly want to talk about it. “It’s embarrassing,” he says. “One stupid kiss and I’m obsessed.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Gwaine argues. 

“I know that,” Arthur says, starting to feel annoyed. 

“No, I mean, of course it’s embarrassing, but you didn’t care if I knew, and I’m more likely to mock you until next century about it,” Gwaine says. “Merlin would laugh, but he’d want to help. You know he’d do anything for you.”

Arthur hates to hear it; he knows it’s true. Merlin’s gone above and beyond for him so many times in the nearly ten years they’ve known each other. Arthur hates that that isn’t enough for him.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Leon says, putting his drink down forcefully. “Are you completely blind? Arthur’s in love with him.” 

“Ahhhh,” Gwaine says, nodding. He doesn’t look terribly surprised. “That makes more sense.”

“I’m right here,” Arthur interjects, and he can feel how hot his cheeks are burning. “And can we not talk about this? Not here, not now.”

He looks away, back to where Merlin and the plaid man are now kissing. It’s nothing indecent, just a bit of fun, but he still feels a pang in his chest.

“I’m going to get some air,” he says. “Actually, I’m heading back. Don’t stay out too late, we have to leave before lunch tomorrow.” 

“Yes, Dad,” Gwaine says, but he catches Arthur by the arm before he can leave. “Talk later, if you want?” 

Arthur shrugs and leaves, savouring the cold air when it hits his face. It’s only about a fifteen minute walk back to the cottage, and Arthur takes it briskly. He feels like he’s in some kind of stalemate, stuck in a holding pattern that he doesn’t know how to break out of. 

Morgana calls him just as he’s unlocking the front door and Arthur takes a second to miss the time when they were barely speaking to one another. 

“What?” he asks, shucking his coat and moving into the kitchen to grab a beer. 

“Leon texted me,” she replies. “And then Gwaine.” Arthur wonders what it’s like to have friends who aren’t all embarrassingly involved in each other’s lives. “I’m still waiting on Merlin.”

Arthur flops down on the overstuffed sofa and flicks on the television. 

“Do we have to talk about this?”

“Not if you don’t want to,” Morgana says. “Frankly, I’m getting a little sick of your almost entirely unnecessary angst.”

“I’m not angsting,” Arthur protests. “Merlin’s annoyed at me, but he can never stay that way. It’ll be fine.”

“Will you though? Gwaine told me you left when you saw Merlin kissing some bloke.”

“It wasn’t just because of that,” Arthur says, which isn’t quite true. “I just...didn’t want to talk about it.” 

“You never do,” Morgana says drily. 

Which is Arthur dead to rights, but he can’t admit it.

“You can’t keep on like this,” she says, when Arthur doesn’t say anything. “Either you tell him how you feel, or you move on. Because eventually, he’s going to meet someone and you’re going to be an arsehole about it, and he doesn’t deserve that.”

“The thought of having that conversation makes me feel physically sick,” Arthur says flatly. “I just...I can’t, Morgana. Why would I risk everything on the off chance that he feels the same way? And even if he did, that doesn’t guarantee anything. Gwen did and look what happened.”

“You said you were over that,” Morgana says, so gently it hurts a little. 

“I am. I’m not hurt anymore, I’m not upset. It was ages ago. But I’d have to be stupid not to learn from my mistakes.”

Morgana is silent for a long time. Arthur fiddles with the label on his beer bottle.

“I get it,” she says eventually. “It makes me sad, but I get it.”

Arthur almost snaps at her for that, but he holds back. They’re past taking everything the other says in precisely the wrong way, past arguing over petty shit. Arthur knows Morgana cares about him. 

“I’m gonna go to bed,” he says, even though it’s early. 

“‘Night, Arthur,” Morgana says, the softness in her voice making Arthur cringe a little.

“Goodnight,” he replies, hangs up, and stares into the empty fireplace for a long moment, trying not to feel completely pathetic.

*

Arthur’s upstairs on the bed reading when the rest of the guys return. He listens carefully to the footsteps and figures it’s all three of them—Merlin didn’t go home with the plaid man.

He looks up when Merlin enters, but Merlin only nods at him, then goes about getting ready for bed. Arthur wonders if it’s going to be up to him to say something (perish the thought), but once Merlin slides under the covers, he turns to Arthur, and says,

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He doesn’t sound pissed at all, and he just looks curious and a little thoughtful.

“It was embarrassing,” Arthur says. “And kind of pathetic.”

“Sounds like it was amazing,” Merlin says softly. He’s looking right at Arthur, and despite the discomfiting feeling it causes in Arthur’s stomach, he can’t look away. 

“It was,” he says. “Best kiss of my life.”

Merlin, for some reason, smiles at that, and then turns to put out the light on his nightstand. Arthur puts away his book and turns off his own light and climbs under the covers. The bed is big enough that they can share it comfortably without touching. Arthur wishes it were a little smaller. 

“Night,” Merlin says. He’s on his side, facing Arthur, who’s lying on his back, but can’t resist sneaking looks over at Merlin. His eyes are closed, his lips slightly parted, and Arthur wonders what would happen if he leaned over and kissed him. The thought scares him, but not as much as the thought of opening his mouth and pouring his heart out to Merlin. Maybe if he just leaned in, brushed his lips against Merlin’s, they’d never need to talk about it at all.

*

Arthur wakes up the next morning, not entangled with Merlin, as he’d kind of hoped for, but flat on his stomach with his arm thrown around Merlin’s waist. They’re not touching anywhere else, but Merlin’s hand is curled around his arm, and it’s so nice that Arthur can’t stand it.

He hauls himself out of bed and downstairs to make coffee. Leon’s already there, reading the news on his phone, and he grunts in Arthur’s direction without looking up. Arthur makes coffee and eggs and they eat in companionable silence. Eventually, Arthur heads back upstairs to take a shower. Merlin’s awake when he re-enters the bedroom to grab some clothes, although he’s still in bed, typing on his phone. 

Arthur’s just about to step into the shower when he realises he’s forgotten his boxers. He sighs and, slinging his towel around his waist, pads back to the bedroom. He’s just about to push open the door when he hears Merlin’s voice, suddenly loud.

“I _can’t_ tell him, not now, Morgana!” 

Arthur freezes. There’s a long silence, and Arthur can hear Merlin pacing the room. 

“After this long, it’s just weird. He’ll be pissed, and I—”

They must be talking about him, surely? Arthur can’t think who else it would be. 

“But—”

Judging by how few words Merlin can get in, and the long pauses between him speaking, Arthur would guess this is Morgana in full lecture mode. 

“You don’t get it,” Merlin says, but his voice is fading, and Arthur hears the rattle of the French doors that lead out onto the little balcony outside their room. He hovers for another minute, to no avail, and he’s just turning to return to the bathroom when Gwaine emerges from the other bedroom and blinks at him.

“What in god’s name are you doing, Arthur?”

“Nothing,” Arthur says, and flees to the bathroom, boxers entirely forgotten.

*

There’s no time for Arthur to sneak away and call Morgana and demand answers; after he’s showered, they have to pack up and return the keys and start the trip back to London. He’s driving, with Merlin in the front seat, and Gwaine and Leon both fall asleep less than half an hour after they’re on the road.

“Typical,” Merlin sniffs, looking over his shoulder. “Not like we even had a big one last night.”

At that, his cheeks go faintly pink, like he’s remembering what he got up to the previous night, and he darts a little look at Arthur, as if he’s wondering if Arthur remembers too.

“Some of us did,” Arthur says lightly. “Didn’t want to make a night of it with Mr Plaid?” 

He glances over and Merlin’s blushing properly now.

“That was stupid,” he says. “I wasn’t—I didn’t—”

“Hey,” Arthur says, and in a moment of bravery or stupidity, takes a hand off the wheel and rests it gently on Merlin’s leg. “It’s fine, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Because Morgana’s right. If Arthur isn’t going to do anything about his feelings for Merlin, he’s not going to be the person that stops Merlin from finding happiness with someone else. 

“I know,” Merlin says, looking out the window. The tips of his ears are still red, and Arthur’s about to pull his hand back when Merlin puts his own over it. “Thanks.” He squeezes Arthur’s hand and then lets go, and Arthur retreats, unable to help the warm, pleased feeling in his stomach. 

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” Merlin continues. “All that plaid on one person is never a good sign.”

Arthur laughs. “I’m embarrassed for you,” he says, and Merlin grins at him. 

“I still have better taste than you,” he says. “Remember that biker you dated in uni?”

“I did not date a biker, Merlin,” Arthur gasps. “And I resent the insinuation.” 

“He was either a biker or a leather daddy, I’m not sure which image is worse,” Merlin says cheerfully, and Arthur sputters. 

“Did you just say the words _leather daddy >? While I’m driving so I can’t put my hands over my ears and scream to drown you out?” _

_“You know it’s true,” Merlin retorts. “You dated some very questionable people at uni.”_

_“We weren’t dating so much as—”_

_“Shagging aggressively on every surface in our flat?”_

_“Well, yes, if you want to be crude about it.”_

_Merlin laughs. “You’re the crude one, mister.”_

_The lapse into comfortable silence for a while._

_“I never understood the people you went out with at uni,” Merlin says after a while. “You could have had, well, anyone. Everyone I knew was half in love with you. But you would date these weirdos—”_

_“Hey!”_

_“—or people who were weirdly obsessed with you or after your money or…”_

_Merlin trails off, but keeps looking at Arthur. “I never got it.”_

_Arthur half-shrugs, feeling uncomfortable._

_“It was uni,” he says. “The time to fuck up. I guess I was just...trying things out. I like interesting people, they just don’t always happen to be good people.”_

_Merlin rolls his eyes. “You’re such a dweeb,” he says, but lets the subject drop._

_They stop for petrol after an hour and a half, and Arthur gets out to stretch his legs while Merlin fills the car up and goes in to pay. Arthur wanders away a little and pulls out his phone._

_“Hello?” Morgana sounds distracted._

_“What were you talking to Merlin about this morning?” Arthur asks without preamble. “And make it quick, I’ve only got five minutes.”_

_“What was I—how do you know I talked to Merlin?”_

_Arthur is silent._

_“Were you _eavesdropping_?” Morgana demands. _

_“Only a little bit!”_

_“Arthur, I swear to—” She breaks off and takes a deep breath. “What did you hear?”_

_“Just Merlin saying he couldn’t tell someone something. Was it me? What was he talking about?”_

_“This is ridiculous,” Morgana says. “I’m done with this, you two idiots are on your own.”_

_She hangs up on him, and when he tries to call her back it goes straight to voicemail. Arthur, feeling betrayed, texts her a knife emoji and heads back to the car. Merlin joins him a minute later, dropping a packet of sweets into Arthur’s lap, and sipping on a frozen coke._

_“Merlin, it’s six degrees outside.”_

_Merlin just makes an obnoxious face around his straw, and Arthur determinedly doesn’t look at his mouth._

__

*

By the time Arthur has dropped everyone off at their various residences and made it up to his own, it’s nearly 6 pm. He briefly considers cooking, but instead orders a pizza and promises himself he’ll get up early tomorrow and go to the gym.

He sits in front of the TV for a while, but he feels restless, like there’s something he’s meant to be doing, but he can’t remember what. Arthur likes his space, but after a weekend of company (the best company, if he’s honest with himself) his flat always feels too big and too empty. He can’t stop thinking about Merlin; next to him in bed, grinning at him from the front seat, saying _everyone I knew was half in love with you_.

His pizza has just arrived when he gets a text from Morgana.

 **Morgana (18:49)** Because I love you and you’re an idiot I’m going to say this one more time and then I’m done I swear to god

 **Morgana (18:52)** Talk to Merlin. Tell him how you feel. Because even if you’re willing to sacrifice that to keep things how they are, you’ll lose him eventually, to someone else or a better job or one of a hundred things

 **Morgana (18:52)** I swear I’m done after this but just. God I don’t want you to regret this forever.

Arthur’s heart is pounding like he’s just run a marathon, and he wonders vaguely if he’s about to have a panic attack. He hasn’t had one since his father died, something his therapist raised her eyebrow about when he told her. His phone buzzes again.

 **Morgana (18:55)** Just...I wouldn’t say this if I thought you were going to get hurt. Please trust me. Talk to him.

And for some reason, this time it gets him. Morgana’s been telling him for a long time that he needs to get off his arse and chase what he wants, but this time, he believes her. He _wants_ to.

Before he can talk himself out of it, he grabs his car keys and coat and rushes out the door.

*

Arthur drives as fast as he can, mainly to distract himself from thinking about what he’s going to say when he gets there. Should he just blurt everything out? Grab Merlin and kiss him? Ask him out on a date?

With the exception of the kissing, it sounds excruciating, but Arthur likes to think of himself as a gentleman, and grabbing Merlin and kissing him doesn’t seem like the behaviour of a gentleman. 

Merlin lives only fifteen minutes from him, so he’s there before he can figure it out. He parks illegally and leaps out of the car, cursing himself for forgetting his gloves and scarf. He buzzes Merlin’s flat number and hops from one foot to the other, trying to keep himself warm.

The speaker crackles to life. 

“Yes?” Merlin sounds confused.

“Merlin, it’s me, let me up.” 

“Arthur? Did I pack something of yours?”

“Freezing my balls off here, Merlin.”

“Oh, right, of course.” 

There’s a buzzing sound of the door unlocking and Arthur hurries inside and upstairs to Merlin’s flat. Merlin’s standing in the door when he gets there, looking bemused. He’s wearing his pyjamas already, which Arthur finds annoyingly cute, and his hair is damp.

“Hi,” he says awkwardly when he gets to the door. Merlin looks at him strangely, but lets him in the door anyway.

Merlin’s flat is small and unimpressive, like he still hasn’t quite grasped the idea that he has money and could live almost anywhere he wanted. He claims he’s comfortable and doesn’t see the point of moving. 

“Uh, what’s up, Arthur?” Merlin says. He takes a seat on the sofa, and a glance at the television tells Arthur he’s interrupted a Netflix session. 

“Nothing,” Arthur says automatically, sitting on the other end of the sofa. He’s about ten seconds away from wringing his hands and wishing desperately that he’d thought this out just a little more. He stands.

“Obviously,” Merlin snorts. “Did I accidentally pack some of your stuff?”

“No, it’s not that,” Arthur says. He turns to face Merlin. “Look, there’s something I have to tell you.”

Merlin freezes. 

“It’s nothing bad, I promise. Well, it might be, I guess, depending on how you—that’s not the point.”

Oh god, he’s fucking this up so badly. He bites his lip and looks at Merlin straight on, both hoping and fearing that his desperation shows on his face.

“Merlin, I—”

“Wait!” Merlin shoots up from the sofa, and Arthur almost physically startles back. Merlin looks almost as desperate as Arthur feels. “Just wait a second, okay?”

“Okay?” Arthur replies, baffled. 

“I’ll just be—” And Merlin half-runs out of the room, in the direction of his bedroom. 

Arthur just has time to text Morgana _this was a terrible idea, I hate you_ before Merlin returns, his hands behind his back. He looks like school kid in front of the headmaster. 

“Merlin, what—”

“Arthur, I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean for it to get so… I’m just, I’m sorry,” Merlin says urgently. 

He brings his hands out from behind his back and Arthur stares at the object in them, not understanding at all. There’s a black mask, beautiful and intricate, an exact match for the one his mystery man had worn on New Year’s Eve. Merlin’s fingers are playing with the edges of it, almost nervously, and when Arthur raises his eyes to Merlin’s face, Merlin’s expression matches.

“Merlin, _what_?”

“I’m sorry, I just—”

“Was this a joke? Did someone put you up to it?”

Merlin frowns and steps forward, dropping the mask on the sofa in favour of grabbing Arthur’s arm. 

“A joke? What the hell do you—you mean you didn’t—”

Arthur cannot process this at all. 

“Well I don’t know, Merlin,” he says sarcastically. “You’re not exactly being forthcoming with information here.”

He thinks about that kiss, the perfect slide of soft lips against his, the way it had made him feel. The knowledge that it was Merlin who kissed him that night—Merlin who he’s wanted to kiss ever since he stopped wanting to throttle him nine years ago, Merlin who he’s been in love with for the last two—makes it hard to breathe.

“Well if you would stop interrupting me, I might be able to,” Merlin shouts, and then takes a deep breath. 

“I...I had a plan,” he says.

“A plan.”

“Yes.” 

Merlin pauses, looking at Arthur imploringly. Arthur is a goddamn sucker for that look, and even in the middle of whatever he’s feeling right now, this mixture of anger and confusion and disbelief, it still works on him.

“I was going to come to the party, and kiss you at midnight, because if you can’t do it on New Year’s, when can you?” 

_Any time, any place_ , is the answer to that but Arthur doesn’t say it. Merlin’s still holding Arthur’s arm in a tight grip, and he moves a little closer and Arthur’s heart starts to pound. 

“Except I couldn’t find a costume, and there was traffic, and I almost didn’t make it. I didn’t mean to just rush up to you and kiss you but there was no _time_ and I just went for it.” 

Merlin’s blushing attractively now, his eyes begging Arthur to believe him. 

“Why did you run away?” Arthur asks. He has so many questions—why Merlin wanted to kiss him in the first place, why he was in London instead of two hours away at his mum’s, why he didn’t _say anything_ —but this is the first one that comes to his lips. 

“I panicked.” Merlin bites his lip and looks away. “I’m sorry. I was a total chickenshit. I just—you looked so good, Arthur, and that kiss was—”

“Amazing,” Arthur finishes.

“Amazing,” Merlin agrees. “And I totally freaked out. I’ve been waiting so long to do it and I just...panicked. So I ran away.” 

There’s so much to process there that Arthur doesn’t know where to start. Except—

“You’ve been wanting to kiss me for a long time?”

Merlin’s blushing furiously now, but he nods.

“Years,” he admits. 

Arthur kisses him. He can’t not. The idea that Merlin wants to kiss him, has wanted to kiss Arthur for possibly as long as Arthur has wanted to kiss him is too irresistable.

Merlin makes a startled noise into Arthur’s mouth before he leans into the kiss, pressing closer and sliding his arms around Arthur’s waist. His mouth tastes as good as it had on New Year’s Eve; better, now that Arthur knows it’s Merlin’s. 

“But why didn’t you say anything, after?” Arthur asks when they part. He would like nothing more than to keep kissing Merlin, but he has to know. He’s going to do this properly. Merlin sighs and pulls back. He tugs Arthur down onto the sofa.

“I thought you knew it was me,” he says. Arthur blinks.

“What?”

“I was wearing a _wizard costume_ , Arthur. And you know me so well. It never crossed my mind that you didn’t know it was me. So when you never said anything about it…” Merlin shrugs. “I thought you just wanted to pretend it hadn’t happened. I had no idea until Gwaine let it slip that you didn’t know who it was.”

Arthur thinks back over the last two weeks, and some of Merlin’s stranger behaviour clicks into place.

“Fuck,” he says. 

“Yeah,” Merlin agrees. 

Arthur leans over and kisses him again and Merlin pulls at his shoulders until they’re lying down on the sofa. Merlin’s mouth is addictive, Arthur can’t pull away from it for more than five seconds at a time. 

“Wait,” he pants, sitting back up after ten minutes and trying to subtly adjust his jeans. “This isn’t just—I can’t—” he stammers, and then takes a deep breath. 

Merlin touches his face. 

“Use your words, Arthur,” he teases. 

“I love you,” Arthur says. It makes his stomach hurt to say it out loud, and he can’t look at Merlin while he does. He thinks, he knows, he has a good shot here, that Merlin doesn’t just want a kiss and a shag, but saying it out loud feels so raw and leaves him so exposed. “I want this to be something...real.”

Merlin, the fucker, rolls his eyes, but his voice is soft when he says. 

“Me too.” He kisses Arthur this time, his hand cupping Arthur’s head in a perfect imitation of their first kiss. Arthur’s entire body shivers but he can’t stop himself from retorting,

“Wait, I pour my heart out and all I get is a ‘me too’?” 

Merlin climbing into his lap and not letting him string four words together for the next hour is, Arthur concedes, a fair exchange.

*

Later, they’re lying in Merlin’s bed, Merlin on his phone, and Arthur is watching him.

“You really came back to London so you could kiss me at midnight?” he asks. He trails his fingers down Merlin’s thigh.

“If I say yes, your already inflated head is going to explode,” Merlin says. “But yes.” 

“You looooove me,” Arthur says, sing-song. He’s so happy he feels like it’s bubbling up inside him.

“More’s the pity,” Merlin agrees. 

“You’ve had a lot of stupid ideas over the years,” Arthur muses. “But this one takes the cake.”

“Oi!”

“Why didn’t you ever just tell me?” 

“Why didn’t you?” Merlin shoots back.

“I came here tonight to tell you, before you stole my thunder. As usual, I might add,” Arthur adds accusingly, but his hand is rubbing circles on Merlin’s hip, so his ire is probably not believable. 

“I thought you came to tell me that you knew it was me and that you never wanted to see me again,” Merlin says. 

Arthur sits up.

“ _What_?”

“I thought Morgana told you it was me,” Merlin explains. He’s still looking at his phone, as if totally unphased by this conversation. 

“Morgana knew?” Arthur thinks back to the phone call and her cryptic messages this afternoon. He flops back down. “Of course Morgana knew. You told her?”

“I panicked,” Merlin admits. Arthur resists the obvious wisecrack. “So I thought she’d spilled the beans and that you would be pissed that I’d both kissed you and let you spend two weeks trying to find the guy who did and that you’d yell and call me unprofessional and then storm out.”

“I’m not like that,” Arthur protests.

“No,” Merlin agrees, putting down his phone and sliding back down onto the bed. “But Morgana said you had a lot of feelings about it, and I didn’t want to get my hopes up for—” Merlin gestures at the two of them and the bed.

“For a genius you’re pretty stupid,” Arthur says. 

“Eh,” Merlin says, and he slides his arm around Arthur’s waist and tugs until Arthur rolls over and settles on top of him. “I do alright.” 

Arthur can still feel the worry clinging to the edges of his mind; that this isn’t real, that Merlin will change his mind, that he’s going to get his heart broken again. But as Merlin starts to work kisses down his neck and stroke his hands reverently along his shoulders, Arthur concedes that this might just be worth the risk.


End file.
